


Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf

by captain_indigo



Category: Claymore
Genre: Canon-Typical Body Horror, F/F, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_indigo/pseuds/captain_indigo
Summary: After the fall of the Organization, a few of their experiments remain scattered across the land.





	Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverDagger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDagger/gifts).



> A VERY late valentine's day present for Jean Snow, hope you enjoy it. :)

“This scenery is so nostalgic!” Helen laughed, rushing past Deneve to reach the top of the next hill.

“How many times are you going to say that before we get there?” Deneve huffed softly, but Helen didn’t hear. They had been hiking for a few hours and Deneve felt the back of her neck growing sticky under the folds of her cloak.

“Hurry up, I bet we’ll be there in a day or so.” Holding back a smile, Deneve moved a bit faster, stray pebbles skittering over the rocks under her feet. A breeze met them at the top of the slope, sending Helen’s hair fluttering into her eyes. "Look!" A highland meadow stretched out in front of them, hardy grasses and thorny shrubs scattered across the rocky landscape in a jarring burst of green. A small grove of trees nestled against the rock where the land began to slope upwards again, and Deneve blinked in surprise.

"Apples?"

"I remember this!" Helen crowed, scrambling down the rocks. "I used to pass by here on my way to the next town over with my parents." Deneve picked her way down the slope, while Helen dashed ahead. The trees were gnarled but clearly flourishing and heavy with fruit. Helen bit into one without hesitation, the crunch reaching Deneve's ears as she caught up. "Come on, try one with me," Helen grinned.

"You couldn't just hand it to me?" Deneve chided, catching the apple Helen tossed directly at her head.

"What fun would that be?" Helen moved further into the trees, grabbing apples left and right and shoving them into her bag. "Don't be a spoilsport."

"You'd be dead within a week if I wasn’t."

Helen glanced back, and caught the edge of Deneve's smile.

"Ok ok, I guess I've gotten used to you like this after all," she grinned, but her voice was oddly sincere. Then the moment was gone, and Helen went back to her task of picking as many apples as she could carry. Deneve followed, chewing thoughtfully and taking in the mountainous views around them.

It was slight, so slight she almost missed it.

"Helen."

"I'm almost done, give me a minute."

_"Helen."_

"What?" Helen finally turned, and her demeanor shifted instantly at the sight of Deneve's stern face. "Where?"

Deneve nodded silently towards the far edge of the meadow, setting down her bag against a tree and drawing one of her claymores. Helen followed, both of them suddenly silent.

The sightings of yoma had grown fewer and farther between since the downfall of the organization, but that had only made things even more dangerous. The downside of peace is complacency, Deneve had told herself as she resolutely stayed in shape, practicing even as some of the other former claymores opted to adopt a more human lifestyle. Helen had mocked her for the first month or so, and then one day had joined Deneve in her exercises. She didn't say a word until they were done for the afternoon, and Deneve commented that her strange bout of silence probably meant that hell had frozen over. The other concerning part of the rarity of yoma was that the few who still stumbled across human settlements or hunting parties were the weaklings. They were slow and easy to kill, driven by their hunger and almost completely void of thought or strategy. They were few, but they were steady. Miria had assumed their numbers would someday drop to zero, but they simply hadn't. So, Deneve thought as they crept across the meadow in the shadow of the rocky cliff, those creatures that remained hidden had some traits in common. They were smart, they were strong, and they were choosing to create just enough weaker yoma to keep the warriors distracted. Breathing deeply and saying none of this out loud, Deneve carefully kept pace.

"It feels weird," Helen murmured from the corner of her lips. "Cold." Deneve just nodded, squinting into the darkness as a cave mouth loomed in front of them. Wind whistled out at them, and Deneve shivered. It was utterly icy, an unnatural chill that couldn't simply be from the mountain air.

"We should alert the others. I don't like this."

Helen snorted. "The nearest town is at least a week back, and I don't feel like walking that far. Come on, after what we've done, you don't think we can take a few extra creepy gut-munchers?" Her shoulders falling back into their easy set, Helen marched forward into the cave. Resisting the urge to rub her temples in frustration, Deneve followed. There was no sound apart from the occasional drip of water from the ceiling, but the cave seemed to breathe silently around them like they had walked into the mouth of a giant beast. The cold breeze slithered along under their feet, and their shoes echoed jarringly against the stone.

_Drip._

_Drop._

Deneve frowned. They reached an impasse, the ceiling of the cavern sloping down to meet the surface of a pool of water. She reached out beyond, cursing the fact that Yuma wasn’t with them. “Maybe I was imagining it. I can’t sense anything anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

Deneve just shrugged, looking back the way they had come.

_Drop._

_Drip._

“Well, you’re nuts if you think I’m going any further. I didn’t even bring my swimsuit.”

“You never wear a swimsuit.” Deneve sighed, turning back towards the mouth of the cave.

“And you never seem to mind,” Helen laughed, relaxed once more.

“None of us wear swimsuits,” Deneve answered evenly.

“I can see you blushing you know, it isn’t _that_ dark in here.”

And then suddenly, it was, and Deneve’s retort died on her tongue.

The light at the entrance of the cave winked out, gone between one blink and the next, so quickly that Deneve brought her hand to her face to make sure her eyes had actually reopened. She felt the flare of Helen’s yoki next to her, comforting and familiar in the icy blackness.

_Drip._

Metal on stone made Deneve leap back, and as her eyes adjusted she saw Helen’s shadowy form dashing in what she assumed was the direction of the exit. With a deliberate breath, Deneve let the slow burn flare up under her skin.

It felt wrong, unstable, the edge of her yoki jumping anxiously through her body. It reminded her vividly of the first time she had ever released, the terror and raw determination flooding back in an instant. Half choking on it, Deneve sucked in air, trying to steady her breathing and her heart-rate, moving cautiously towards the entrance of the cave.

“Fuck,” Helen hissed from up ahead in the gloom. “It’s not here.”

“Some sort of illusion?” Deneve reached forward, groping along the wall with a frown. It quivered under her fingers, feeling almost alive. Even with her energy released, there was just no light that could reach her eyes at all. The air had gone still and breathless as a tomb, and the sluggish drip of water from the ceiling and outcroppings on the walls had begun to echo in her ears.

“No, it doesn’t- listen.” Helen knocked against what Deneve assumed was the wall in front of them, but instead of the sound of rock or metal it gave a disgusting squelch. “It isn’t rock at all, it's some kind of gunk.” Even in the darkness, Deneve could feel Helen’s grin, and the tightness in her chest began to ease just slightly. Moving back to give Helen room, Deneve again felt the bright flare of Helen’s yoki, and the horrible sucking noise as the strange material gave a bit under the blade of her claymore. “Alright, stand back a little. Whatever it is, this’ll get through it.”

“Show-off,” Deneve muttered as she moved to the side. The creak of Helen’s arms twisting was all the warning she had, and the drill sword was whipping past her, punching a hole through the wall with a disgusting chewing noise. Light burst into the cave, and they stumbled out, their eyes burning for a moment in the sunlight.

“Uhg, damn, you look awful.”

“And you look like a basket of flowers.”

Deneve was grimy and sweaty, and a horrible black goo covered her boots almost up to the top. Helen, on the other hand, was completely coated in the stuff, and trying unsuccessfully to scrape it off her face. Leaning down to inspect her boots, Deneve frowned. They were _hissing._ She grabbed a stick from the ground, poking at the black stuff. It started to come off, slowly, but her boots were scored and smoking where it had made contact. A chill rushed over her body, and her eyes snapped back to her partner.

“Deneve- help m- give me a hand with- this damn stuff-” Helen’s voice was pained and breathless. She was fighting mightily to keep the cheery smile on her face, but Deneve could see it starting to crack. Dark, pulsing veins were spreading where the slime touched her skin, her eyes were flickering gold and silver, and the air grew heavy and ominous as her yoki fluctuated uncontrollably.

The chill solidified to ice in Deneve’s veins. Whatever called that cave home, its secretions were clearly having a disastrous effect. Instead of fighting it simply turned its aggressors into monsters that were more interested in things with warm, slippery guts. If she couldn’t get it under control… Helen had already dropped her sword to the ground and fallen to her knees, her limbs rippling and expanding out from her body.

_“Deneve.”_ Helen’s elbows were curling back towards her body, shoulders hunching, coarse fur dusting the backs of her hands. She grit her teeth, even as they lengthened, tilting her head up. Baring her neck. _“Please.”_

No elaboration was needed. It was only instinct that forced Deneve into motion, the razor edge of her claymore tucked beneath Helen's chin before she had time to think. A thin red line swelled up from Helen's skin, and Deneve stared at it for something like an age before it fell, sinking into the dusty earth.

“Just come back.”

“Oh thanks, never thought of that.” Helen's voice was starting to edge into a growl. “Hurry, I can't hold whatever this is doing to me much longer.”

“If I can get it off of you-”

“Deneve, I've always wanted to eat you, but not like this. Please.”

“You're making jokes _now?”_

Helen laughed weakly. “You have to do it, before- I want-” she swallowed heavily, her eyes starting to glaze over. “Before I-” Helen stood, shakily, pushed forward almost gently, turning the blade of Deneve’s claymore till it was pinned flat between them. It was only then that Deneve realized how much Helen had changed. She was taller by at least a foot, razor claws pricking Deneve’s skin through her clothes and scraping on the shell of her armor. Yellow grey-streaked fur sloped back from her face like a mane, parting around the points of her ears. Her toothy mouth hung slightly open, tongue polishing the stark white of her fangs, and the look in her amber eyes shifted between human and beast almost too quickly for Deneve to follow.

 

It was much the same as the first time, so long ago, when the pure uncomplicated lust of battle had almost swallowed her whole. Helen couldn’t remember how many yoma she had killed in that bloody haze, body burning hotter with delight as each one fell, leaving a trail of them all the way back to the village. That time it had been a human, picking blackberries in the woods. Probably a girl of nine or ten who had seen Helen, dripping alien blood from her fur, and screamed in terror. Helen froze, and the girl dropped her berries, scrambling off into the thicket. Helen watched the wicker basket roll, dropping to a halt upside down over a tree root. She looked down at her hands, realizing one had stretched out to grab the human without her even realizing it, and Helen was flooded with a wave of nausea so strong she dropped to her knees.

She never went near that village again, or even that area of the forest, but the look of horror in that child’s eyes had always been enough.

It was muted now, covered over by time and cockiness and- by the twin goddesses, she was _hungry_. It flared up from her stomach, rippling in curtains through her body, humming in tune with the raw power of her yoki. Deneve lept back, swords flashing at a speed born of fear, sending black-stained chunks of fur and flesh scattering across the ground. The roar of pain that escaped Helen's mouth was nothing human. She moved without thought, suddenly finding that Deneve was under her, claymore pinned above her head by a speedy claw. With her other paw, Helen tore open the fabric over Deneve’s stomach, barely catching herself before she broke the skin. Deneve shuddered, but other than that fell strangely still.

“You aren’t going to eat me. I got most of it off you.” Helen blinked, staring at Deneve’s face from what seemed like very far away.

“Too late. I'm _starving._  Should’ve killed me if you didn’t want to get eaten.”

“I’m not going to kill you, and you aren’t going to eat me.” Deneve repeated, patiently, as if to a child.

Helen growled, low in her throat, and began to nose around the belts of Deneve’s armor, carefully picking apart the metal shell with her teeth. “Thought you wanted to live. Idiot.”

“More than anything.” Deneve buried a hand the the fur of Helen’s mane, pulling her head up to meet her eyes with surprising gentleness. “So what will you do?” Deneve’s ease hit Helen in the gut like a fist.

_Eat, eat, devour your fill,_ her body urged. Helen bit into Deneve’s shoulder, tearing holes in the cloth till the sweet tang of blood exploded across her tongue. Deneve’s hand tightened in her hair, and Helen could’ve purred. Pulling back, licking blood from her lips, Helen’s breath began to quicken. Deneve was still looking right at her, utterly calm but for the minute twist of pain in her expression. The fire coursing through Helen’s body was pulling at her mind, almost irresistible. _She tastes better than anything I could imagine,_ Helen thought, hazily. _But she wants to live._ A frustrated whine echoed in her ribcage, and Helen tore through the remaining fabric of Deneve’s jumpsuit, watching the muscles of Deneve’s stomach jump and quiver under her claws.

And then she froze. The thick cord tugged where it held Deneve’s body closed, the tiniest wet shine of blood visible where the stitches dug through her skin. Helen hovered, hand outstretched. It would be easy, just a single swipe of her claw across those stitches and Deneve would split open for her like a ripe fruit. But Deneve was still looking at her, mouth set, making no move to escape. The hunger in her never abated, but it twisted, cold clear memories of mountain and snow and a rare laugh reappearing through the fog, and Helen’s next frustrated groan sounded much less like the growl of a wolf. She was still hungry, but- Helen dipped her head, running her broad tongue up the whole length of Deneve’s scar, barely hearing Deneve’s sharp intake of breath. She lapped at it, senses full of the taste of skin and blood and the way Deneve began to squirm a little in her grip. Helen let go of Deneve’s claymore, hands dropping to her hips as she mouthed to the low end of the stitches and farther still. _She wants to live, and she won’t kill me._ Helen curled her tongue hungrily, Deneve’s thigh tightening against her cheek. _What else can I do but make sure she never has to?_

“Helen.” Deneve’s voice was rough, as if she’d been crying. Helen blinked, licking her lips, looking up at Deneve who had propped herself up on her arms. “I told you.” Deneve’s hand on her face was skin on skin, and Helen almost laughed in relief.

“Does that mean I have to stop?”

Deneve broke eye-contact, suddenly very interested in having a staring contest with a nearby tree. “I didn’t say that. We should be safe here for a while.” Helen grinned at the almost invisible pink that dusted across Deneve’s cheeks. Even as her yoki faded back to normal, she could hear the hurried pulse of the blood in Deneve’s veins, racing a little harder as Helen’s mouth dropped back between her thighs.


End file.
